


slow ride (take it easy!)

by popocco



Series: don't say it out loud [3]
Category: Gintama
Genre: (Obviously), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domesticity (???), Embarrassing Pillow Talk, Establised Relationship, Foreplay, Ginsan can be a very generous lover when he actually gives a shit about trying, Hijikata almost discovers the sub drop, Hijikata discovers that getting fucked in the ass is kind of like riding a bike, Hijikata gets head pets for being a good boy, Hijikata relearns the emotional risk and reward of bottoming, Intense thirty second rimming panic, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Role Reversal, Teasing, The previous two are mostly (about 70 percent) joking so don't get your hopes up too high, Wake-Up Sex, lazy morning sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 20:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19342492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popocco/pseuds/popocco
Summary: How, exactly, do you go about telling your longtime semi-serious fling that you want to try switching it up in the bedroom when you've been having sex the same way since the very start and neither of you are actually unhappy with it?Hijikata sure doesn't fucking know.He sure is starting to get stressed out about it.





	slow ride (take it easy!)

**Author's Note:**

> "another one already?!" you may think. but the truth is that this has been a wip for like a year now and i only JUST managed to wrap it up, after starting and finishing an entirely new fic completely on a whim last week lol
> 
> anyways. i tend to not generally care who tops and who bottoms in any given ship, as long as everything's in character. variety is the spice of life.
> 
> that being said: i do think that ginsan is just by nature a lazy, needy pillow princess who COULD give as good as he gets if he ever actually bothered, and that hijikata accordingly just kind of adopted the role of service top from necessity and came to be pretty decently into it.
> 
> but we will leave my thesis-length essay on the relationships that these characters individually have with sexuality for another day (or will we. this is 13k dedicated entirely to just fucking.)

… Hot. It’s hot.

That’s the first thing Hijikata feels as he starts to wake up, more slowly than he usually would. There’s a yellowish light on the other side of his eyelids, so it’s much later than usual too. It’s one of his rare days off though, so that’s fine.

Besides feeling oddly sweaty in his bedclothes, he’s starting to realize that he can’t move basically at all. It’s confusing for a moment, before he groggily remembers where he spent the night. The arms tight around his midsection, the forehead pressed against his back, the soft hair tickling his neck, the pair of legs tangled up in his own- they’re all familiar.

They always seem to end up this way whenever Hijikata stays over. Once, he woke up immobile on his back with Yorozuya’s arm through the front of his yukata and out the sleeve. The layout varies, but the guy is a chronically clingy sleeper. This morning it seems he’s doing some classic koala mimicry.

Hijikata habitually sleeps on his back, so the limb tucked under and around his waist digs in a bit uncomfortably, but it could be worse. He doesn’t have to use the toilet or anything, so he keeps his eyes shut, and decides to let Yorozuya keep snoozing for just a while longer. Only because he’s not snoring, and because Hijikata doesn’t have anywhere else to be in a hurry.

Ordinarily the restless urge to exercise before breakfast would pull him out of bed in a minute or two, but they already did plenty of that before sleeping after all. He can’t remember exactly how long work and bad luck had kept postponing it, but last night’s rendezvous must have been the first in over a month. They’d skipped the pleasantries and gone straight to fucking like rabbits. Hijikata’s body is still comfortably sore and heavy.

… His field of comparison is admittedly kind of slim, if not spaced too widely apart for very accurate judgment, but he still sort of feels like that might have been the best head he’s ever gotten. Yorozuya’s mouth is all kinds of things: tactless, rotten, loud. But the ways he knows how to use it, to-

No, no no, there’s going to be a problem if he keeps thinking about that. He’s already more conscious of the body pressed firmly against his back.

The heartbeat there is steady and peaceful. It’s a little odd to him still, to be quietly held like this, by this person of all people. Odd, but not bad.

Hijikata’s mind easily begins to clear again, gradually inviting that feeling of warmth in his feet that signals sleep reapproaching. Without any real sense of indecision he wonders at accepting it or not.

Then Yorozuya’s dick bumping against the back of his thigh through their clothes chooses for him.

Seriously? _Seriously_? He _just_ calmed himself down, and now he’s stuck here gripped by the human embodiment of sleep paralysis and his ridiculous morning wood.

Yorozuya sighs, and that tiny noise races along Hijikata’s entire spine. The pressure on the back of his leg grows slightly. He doesn’t move against it- he doesn’t move at all, but he _wants_ to, it’s not quite touching but it almost--

“Mmnnrrrrrrrrrrrgggggh,” Yorozuya groans with a distinctly unhappy cadence. He sounds something like a cat about to start gagging on a hairball. He’s always so dramatic about waking up.

He buries his head between Hijikata’s shoulder blades, and pulls his arms tighter around his waist. It would be half endearing if it didn’t squeeze the air right out of Hijikata’s diaphragm with the sudden surprising force of it.

“-- _ghhaagh_ \- You, are you practicing the Heimlich or something?!” Hijikata tries to twist around and elbow the bastard, but he’s so snugly curled around him that it’s impossible. Yorozuya just yawns and mumbles something unintelligible into Hijikata’s back.

Hijikata is now uncomfortably sweaty, from the morning sun coming through the window and the body sticking to him like glue- deceptively strong, half conscious glue, with a stubborn boner. His clothes are disarranged and loose after sleeping in them, pinned under his body in awkward places and twisted tightly in others, wide open and baring his skin in others still. A combination of feelings that verges on something vaguely bondage-like, and now his mind’s _definitely_ fallen into to some unsalvageable pit of filth because he’s starting to get hard too in spite of every goddamn effort to avoid it! Shit!!

He would’ve pegged himself satisfied for at least a good while after how long they spent screwing last night. But… it’s been quietly nagging at him for some time already, longer than he’d really like to acknowledge, this one simple little desire that he’s let go unfulfilled. Something he can easily do without, something he’s happy to keep on doing without in lieu of the way Yorozuya usually is in bed anyways.

It’s not that he’s _desperate_ for it, to be the one getting fucked silly for once.

He’s not desperate- it’s just something he’s started to want a bit lately, that he _has_ accumulated decent skill and experience in, though not with this particular man. 

This whatever it is that they’ve got has been a longer affair than Hijikata would have dared to expect at the beginning. It’s allowed for a lot of new things, like waking up slowly in someone else’s house, and leaving work in a different direction when he’s got the time for it. Things that neither of them really acknowledge out loud for how mundane they are, but still tacitly have come to accept and even look forward to. New, irregular little routines. Comfortable things.

The way they have sex is comfortable. Hijikata feels comfortable with Yorozuya gasping underneath him, pressing his sweaty forehead into Hijikata’s neck. He feels comfortable seeing Yorozuya’s waist and shoulders tremble when he’s right on the verge of coming. It’s all familiar now, something he’s let himself get used to, whether he really should or not.

It’s something he likes, a _lot_ , that feels better than just “good”. It feels incredible. So much that whenever they’re in the middle of it he completely forgets whatever else he might have an interest in attempting, until he’s waking up having missed the appropriate chance to bring it up _again_ in any kind of natural way, and now it’s been like ninety fucking days since he first thought he’d like to switch things up a bit and the pressure of that much time spent not just spitting it out is feeding itself like an ouroboros of still not having Yorozuya’s dick in him. 

Alright, maybe he’s a _little_ desperate.

At least in this moment he is, being poked just down and left of his ass by an unflagging erection that he can’t reach, or even ask to interact with because its owner is _still_ not awake yet.

He’s got the freedom of movement to just jerk himself off quietly right here and now, but he’s not going to do that. Hijikata has decided, finally, trapped in this nightmarish unintentional denial play, that he’s done waiting for an appropriate or natural moment to just present itself without any effort on his own part. Meekly waiting for opportunities isn’t his style, damn it. He makes them himself, and presses every advantage.

“Yorozuya,” he says, loud enough to disturb any regular kind of sleep at close range. Of course, he’s not dealing with anyone regular. No response.

“ _Yorozuya_ ,” he repeats more insistently, kicking his legs around under the cover in what is surely an uncomfortable manner for the second pair twisted up around them. Still nothing.

Well, fine, if it’s gonna be like this. Hijikata finds the forearm draped over his waist and pinches it, hard.

It takes a surprising amount of time for the person attached to that arm to become conscious enough to realize what’s happening to it, and pull it away with an over the top cry of faked anguish.

“ _How could youhoohoohooooo_ ,” Yorozuya whine-sobs, after a gigantic yawn that preemptively ruins his pity mongering.

Hijikata ignores him and just says, “Get up.” He feels a bothersome pang of nervousness at where he’s planning to take the conversation, which he wills back down with some split second meditation.

More honestly, Yorozuya gives a short groan in sleepy annoyance. He yawns again, and stretches out his legs. The bare skin of his calves slides against Hijikata’s ankles. Another shiver starts building in his spine but never fully completes itself, sputtering out right below his shoulder blades into a horrifically itchy urge to lean back into the body holding his own.

“... Ahhh,” Yorozuya remarks dully. “No, uhh, I think I’m already… “up”. If you catch my meaning. Haha.”

Hijikata wants to scream.

Instead, with remarkable restraint, he retorts through gritted teeth, “You really think you need to tell _me_ of all people?”

“Yeah, guess not,” Yorozuya concedes with a limp kind of humour in his voice.

He makes no sign whatsoever of releasing Hijikata from his embrace. Rather, his limbs seem to grow a little stiffer, like he’s hesitating about one movement or another. Hijikata can all but feel some comment or question growing on his lips, where they’re warming the side of his neck with their proximity.

The expectation of this _something_ is making Hijikata feel ticklish and hot. To say nothing of the tension transferring from Yorozuya’s body to his own, in every ridiculous way.

Suddenly, like a flash of lightning, Hijikata gets a hunch. A rare kind, that he intuits straight away as unquestionably correct, with a deeply satisfying feeling of reassurance in his chest alongside an excitement so quick and overwhelming he’s compelled to throw his hands up in victory.

He doesn’t do that. He waits, exhilarated, for the pause in Yorozuya’s breath under his ear, and swiftly cuts him off.

“Your next words are gonna be “I wanna put it in,” aren’t they.”

“-Hey, I kinda w-- … oh.”

He knew it. He _knew_ it.

It’s fucking annoying, as usual, to be so on the same page as this jackass that it could be called supernatural. But it’s just another one of those things that over time Hijikata has gotten used to.

Besides, in this case at least it’s convenient. It’s spared him all the hassle of proposing it himself. All the stress he’s experienced until now trying to do that seems utterly pointless, but he’s too relieved to care very much.

“Hmph,” Yorozuya pouts lightly, resting his chin between Hijikata’s neck and shoulder. “Why do _you_ get to be Jojo. I’m way better-suited to the role.”

“You said something so predictable that even Speedwagon could guess it.”

“Wait, you’re Speedwagon now? Are you sure? Are you _really_ ok with demoting yourself to Speedwagon like this?”

Hijikata sighs. “What I’m saying is that your level of thinking is _below_ Speedwagon’s.”

“Hey now, aren’t you being a _little bit_ hard on Speedwagon from the start, here? He can’t use the ripple, and he doesn’t have a stand. He’s just a regular human being, you know. And he _still_ survived an encounter with the Pillar Men despite that, you know? Apologize to Speedwagon.”

“Why are you talking so much about Speedwagon while fully erect!! How much do you like Speedwagon? Are you into some kinda Speedwagon play??”

“Just wondering, but what the hell is “Speedwagon play” supposed to be?”

“Don’t ask me.”

“You’re the one who _said_ it... More importantly, just on principle here- Jojo’s is a Jump series. I seem to recall someone mandating a Magazine-only household, huh? Who was that, again?”

“I haven’t read it _serialized_ , what year do you think it is? The anime has reruns playing all the damn time lately, you can’t get away from it.”

“Uwaaahhhh, a TV-only fan… Tosshi’s rolling around in his grave right now...”

“I’m not a fan, you shit. I’ve just seen it. Who’s got time to go out and buy the individual volumes.”

“Whatever. I bet you cried your eyes out over Caesar.”

“Not as much as you did.”

“No, you definitely cried more.”

… 

… Isn’t this _super_ off topic? They were supposed to be getting into the foreplay by now. What the hell are they doing.

Suddenly not willing to wait any longer for a response to his preempted suggestion, Yorozuya rolls away from Hijikata, leaving his back cold and his thigh undisturbed.

“Che,” he hums. “At least be direct when you shoot someone down.”

Finally having the leeway to do so, Hijikata twists his waist and cranes his neck to look over his shoulder. Yorozuya’s flipped onto his back, arms folded beneath his head like he’s cloud watching, while he just yawns and stretches at his own leisure. His stiffy’s still making a bump in the comforter, but for all appearances he’s just fine to wait until it goes away of its own accord, now.

What the hell? When did Hijikata ever tell him “no”? All they did was talk about Speedwagon!!

How does Yorozuya always manage to be _this_ thick headed and self-conscious at the most inconvenient possible moment?!

Hijikata had foolishly let himself think for a minute that he wouldn’t have to spell it all out, but these things never go that smoothly, do they. Especially not for him, and _especially_ not towards Yorozuya.

He subdues an irritated sigh and settles back on to his side. “Who’s shooting anyone down,” he grumbles.

“Nah, it’s cool. I figured you wouldn’t--”

The obtuse bastard already had his big gracious backdown speech planned out, but halfway through his opener is when he decides it’s time to actually _listen_ instead of act out whatever clever script he prepared.

It still takes him a while.

“... … … … eh?” Yorozuya chirps in disbelief, with just long enough of a pause in front to warn Hijikata of how fucking unbearable things are gonna get very shortly.

He doesn’t give Yorozuya the satisfaction of turning to face him as he clarifies, with an even temper, “I said it’s fine. Get the wax cleaned out of your ears.”

The whole world seems to fall deeply still and quiet, like the disturbing unbreakable calm before a natural disaster. Hijikata can’t even hear himself breathe.

Yorozuya springs upright off his back and scrambles across the futon, crowding right up to the side of Hijikata’s face, jostling his shoulder like some annoying impatient goddamn brat on the morning of a school field trip.

“Oho?” he intones, loudly, voice quavering with mirth. “ _Ohoho?_ What’s that, now? What’s “fine”, exactly? Which part of Gin-san are you all hot and aching for, exactly? Could you be a _little_ more specific? My hearing’s _just_ not what it used to be!”

This is why.

 _This_ is why Hijikata didn’t want to be the one pitching the idea.

“I changed my mind,” he says. “Go stick it in a meat grinder and thrust to your heart’s content.”

“Now now now now now now, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Yorozuya’s retreating voice still has that manic quality to it absolutely _brimming_ with mockery, but Hijikata can’t tell what kind of bullshit he’s up to now that he’s backed away again. “I’m sorry. I’m contemplating my actions. I’m reflecting properly here, see? Let’s not make any hasty decisions.”

The last few words are muffled, but hardly inaudible. It’s curious enough, finally, for Hijikata to sit up cross-legged and turn to face whatever it is Yorozuya is doing now on the other half of the bed.

He’s got his palms and forehead plunged down into it, bowing full dogeza.

… Does he think he’s being funny? God, of course he does. He _always_ does.

“Could you stop that? You’re kinda pissing me off, and _I’m_ the one who says yes or no to this, in case you forgot,” Hijikata informs the bastard with exemplary patience, shoving the heel of his foot up against the crown of Yorozuya’s fluffy bastard head.

As expected, when his dopey face rises out of the futon, it’s got that big shit-eating grin on it. He swats Hijikata’s foot away and sits back up again, starting to shrug out of his pajamas.

“Oh.” But he stops suddenly, with a dawning look of mild realisation that cleans the smirk off his mouth. Thank god for that at least.

“You probably still gotta go tidy up the backyard a bit, huh. In that case, I’m gonna go back to sleep for a while.” He’s _already_ lying down again and reaching for the covers. “Just wake me up when you’re done, ‘kay?”

Hijikata stays put where he is. The base of his spine prickles.

Ordinarily… Yorozuya would be right, to make the assumption that he’s making. Because ordinarily, that’s something he would be taking care of himself, and not the other way around. But the current situation is already pretty far from their “ordinary”. 

And the truth is that for about half the time it’s taken until now for Hijikata to just verbally express his interest in a bit of change, he’s already been putting time aside whenever they meet up, for some more… practical means of physical preparation. Including last night, naturally.

Just in case.

 _That_ wasn’t the difficult part, though. (Even if it was more time-consuming and weird than he remembered it to be.)

… No, the very thing that’s kept Hijikata so frustratingly tongue-tied for _this_ long already, that’s what he’s gotta do next. And quickly, before Yorozuya makes good on his word and falls asleep again. 

He’s getting there fast, by the look of it. Shit.

Ahhh fuck it all, it’s now or never- the cork’s already popped and there’s gonna be champagne all over the damn floor if Hijikata doesn’t act decisively.

He curls his finger tightly against his thumb and lets a wickedly sharp flick come to bear against the surface of Yorozuya’s impossibly thick head.

His eyes fly open again with a mournful sputter. “What!! Why are you being so _mean_ this m-”

“I already took care of it last night,” Hijikata blurts, managing only for a second to meet Yorozuya’s surprised gaze before his own tumbles down on to the creases in the futon. He can already feel the heat of embarrassment growing in his face.

Yeah, this is the worst. There’s no getting around how eager it makes him look. Never mind how eager he _actually_ is- that’s not the point. 

Aaaahh. This is going to suck.

“Ooohh?”

Yep, here it comes. Hijikata considers just getting dressed and leaving.

“ _Oooooohhhhhh??_ What’s _this_ , Hijikata-kuuuuuuuun? You have to speak up when there’s _something you want_ , you knoowwww? You’ve gotta be more upfront with your _desires_ , you _knoooooowwww_??”

With every hamfisted exaggerated drawn-out word he luxuriates in, like some third-rate actor in a tokusatsu lucky enough to play a villain without having to dub over someone different in a rubber monster suit, Yorozuya’s voice becomes all the more exuberant and gleeful. He’s rolled over again to face Hijikata directly while he gloats, lounging on his side with his head propped up, over-performing his own idea of a “sexy” s-curve. He’s beaming like an absolute dipshit. He’s making it _very_ easy to stop being embarrassed, and start being annoyed.

Hijikata knows exactly what Yorozuya’s game is. Besides some minor differences in the details, it’s the same one he’s always on. Ever since he found out _just_ how bad Hijikata is at handling anything more than the most basic dirty talk he’s been on it, because persistent vulgarity is the foundation of Yorozuya’s personality.

Well _this time_ Hijikata has had the winning hand from the outset, and nothing Yorozuya says to try and bait him into describing his cock with a bunch of superlatives is going to work.

“I’m seriously going to change my mind if you keep this up, you know.”

Seamlessly, like he rehearsed it a thousand times before this morning, Yorozuya gets off his side and back into dogeza.

Hijikata whips a pillow at him with his full upper body strength.

“Would you stop that already!!” He sounds a little shrill to his own ear, blaming it on the sudden flare of giddy nervousness rushing through his limbs straight to the pit of his stomach. 

They’ve been goofing around for long enough now that he forgot the physical sense of anticipation that’s been building up in his entire musculature since he awoke, but without much more to pointlessly bicker about, it’s unavoidable. Yorozuya doesn’t have any jokes or jabs to respond with when he straightens up again, swallowing with a thickly visible bob of his throat. His hair is messy and his eyes are bright. He’s hard, still. Blatantly.

The _intention_ in the atmosphere is so thick it’s practically oozing out the window into the streets. Hijikata’s heart is pounding like he’s nineteen again and he’s about to get his first crappy handjob.

That wasn’t anything terribly meaningful, not even at the time, and this doesn’t have to be either. It _shouldn’t_ be, goddamn it! But as long as neither of them are saying anything, as long as they’re just sitting across from each other on a futon they already had copious sex on less than nine hours ago, like they’re about to fucking exchange sake cups or something? It feels like _kind of a big deal._

“W-well then, uh,” Yorozuya stammers, shuffling forward on his knees a little bit. “Here I go, I guess.”

Hijikata has to put his head in his hand to shield himself from this extra second-hand awkwardness that he really, _really_ , does not need at the moment. “Listen, if, if you’re gonna narrate this whole thing out loud step by step, I don’t know--”

“Ha! _HA!_ You thought that was supposed to be for _your_ benefit?? I’m just psyching myself up over here!! In case you hadn’t noticed, the mood has gotten _really weird!!_ ” Yorozuya sounds on the edge of hysteria now, and Hijikata doesn’t have the heart to make fun of it. This is getting out of control.

Keeping a level head above his own instinct isn’t something that Hijikata is particularly good at either, to be honest. But he _is_ good at split second decisions, for better or worse. Hopefully for the better this time.

He inhales deeply, holds the breath in his diaphragm, and resets his nerves with a big sigh. “Get over here already,” he says, and grabs a big fistful of Yorozuya’s collar. He gives it an enthusiastic yank, enough to chip their teeth if this goes badly.

“- _Owa_ ,” is the approximate noise Yorozuya makes, falling open-mouthed on to Hijikata’s lips.

Hijikata keeps pulling, kissing aggressively, and drags them both down to a horizontal state before either of them can screw it all up any further. 

Yorozuya ends up completely on top of him, which in itself isn’t something altogether new. Once, or maybe even twice, he’s mustered the effort before to do more than just lie down and feel good through no substantial work of his own, and those instances stand out in Hijikata’s memory as particularly amazing. But just knowing that the context is different now is enough to make the prospect of this morning very uniquely exciting.

After one more quick appreciative hum against his tongue, Yorozuya pulls back to breathe a little. The way his hair falls around his face when he’s looking straight down like this is even more ridiculous than usual.

“Nice,” he says, in his low and quiet bedroom voice. “That was smooth.”

Hijikata can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but it’s always safe to assume that he is. “Are you over your performance anxiety yet?”

Yorozuya’s dark eyes narrow slightly from the ironic grin that spreads across his mouth. “Pointing out that someone has performance anxiety is a pretty bad way to help with it,” he chuckles.

“Didn’t realize you needed help,” Hijikata retorts, reaching down between them for the loosened knot in his obi. “I feel like I remember an awful lot of bragging about how many different kinds of sex someone here has had before.”

“Oho, you’ve got a good memory.” Yorozuya sits up momentarily to take off his shirt, then catches Hijikata’s wrists in his warm hands and pins them up near the top of the futon. “I’m an expert.”

“Prove it,” Hijikata dares him, pulse throbbing at every point of contact between them. He feels Yorozuya’s cock twitch through their clothes. Ha.

As soon as he’s thrown down the gauntlet Yorozuya’s hands get busy. They don’t linger too long at his wrists- Hijikata is happy to let those stay up above his head while Yorozuya licks deep and slow into his mouth, tilting up his jaw to get the angle he wants with one set of fingers. He uses the other methodically, tracing along Hijikata’s clavicle at first, with feather light touches right on the edge of ticklish.

Those fingertips roam to the well in the centre and slowly, _so_ slowly, start to trail further downwards. Yorozuya’s hot, wet mouth begins to follow, starting at Hijikata’s lips, already grown sensitive from hard kissing. Lingering at the point of his chin next, then caressing his adam’s apple. The back of Yorozuya’s knuckles graze against his navel… And then they stop, lifting away.

In the sudden absence of sensation Hijikata feels his thighs tense where they’re trapped between Yorozuya’s knees. The half-chub he’s been sporting since earlier is getting a lot more lively. His hips twinge, and squirm a little despite his intentions.

“Nooooope,” Yorozuya murmurs right into his ear, dropping his whole body lower to restrict Hijikata’s movement. “You’re gonna have to be patient.”

“Hah,” Hijikata laughs up at the ceiling. “I should’ve known.”

“Uh-huh.” Yorozuya scoots further down, so he’s sitting right atop Hijikata’s shins. He puts both his hands on Hijikata’s hip bones and presses them down into the futon, grinning wickedly from ear to ear. “You _really_ should have.”

Hijikata did expect an unconscionable amount of teasing, going into this. He’s realizing, though, as Yorozuya kisses a drop of sweat off his stomach, that he’s not actually _prepared_ for it.

He hazily gets his elbows down and underneath to prop himself up, so he can watch. The front of his yukata falls completely open, and the sleeves pool on the futon. Another drop of sweat rolls down the back of his neck, while Yorozuya starts slowly repeating a tiny half circle with one of his thumbs down and inwards to the dip of Hijikata’s pelvic muscle. It never goes any further, though.

His erection’s fully straining against his underwear now, and Yorozuya continues to insistently touch every single other place with his mouth and fingers. A hand is always on one of Hijikata’s hips, anchoring it against any general form of independent movement, but the other one goes from his rib cage to his inner arm to his upper thigh and elsewhere at total random, raising goosebumps on his skin wherever it spends a brief, soft second.

The tip of Yorozuya’s tongue dips into his navel, and those warmly coloured eyes of his glint mischievously up at Hijikata, sending a heavy shudder through his body in every direction. The end of Yorozuya’s chin _almost_ brushes the head of Hijikata’s cock, where it’s struggling against the hard edge of his waistband. It doesn’t, though, of course. He can feel and hear his breath shivering.

Yorozuya shifts his body a little higher up, and presses his open mouth between Hijikata’s pectorals. Throbbing heat pierces through his stomach to his backbone, but one of his shoulders jumps with a start. His fingers twitch, ready to come up and push Yorozuya’s head back if they need to.

“I know, I know,” Yorozuya laughs good-naturedly into his chest, as keen to Hijikata’s body language as ever. “Nipples are a no-go, I didn’t forget.” He smiles lazily, and leans even further forward to put a tame kiss on Hijikata’s mouth.

“Good,” Hijikata scolds without any real authority. He inclines his own face in, and returns the gesture with added interest.

While they’re sucking on each other’s tongues, Yorozuya goes back to holding Hijikata still at the middle with both his hands, maybe even more firmly than the first time. One of his thumbs sneaks under the waistband. A short, keening groan gets lost in Yorozuya’s mouth.

When their lips come apart again, Yorozuya backs all the way up… and _all_ the way down.

Hijikata stops breathing while he watches Yorozuya lower his head. Yorozuya’s teeth touch the skin right above the waistband of his underwear, and all of a sudden he desperately _needs_ to move, but the grip on his hip bones stays fast.

Yorozuya clenches the elastic in his teeth and starts to pull it up off of Hijikata’s body, agonizingly slow, prolonging every stage of contact between the fabric of the clothing and his aching, straining hard-on.

Somewhere, deep beneath the wild urge to just grab a handful of Yorozuya’s hair and facefuck him until they’re both a sloppy wreck, Hijikata wonders how he’s going to keep undressing him with his mouth while he’s still sitting on his legs like this.

Yorozuya lets go of the waistband, and it strikes back down on to the tip of Hijikata’s cock like a whip. A cry tears out of his throat and his whole body flinches around this shocking, painful pleasure. Yorozuya kisses the underside of his shaft through the material, dragging another plaintive moan out of him.

His gaze was somehow thrown up to the ceiling again in the midst of all this. When it comes back down, he sees Yorozuya past his own heaving chest, just watching him. He looks far more flushed and breathless than Hijikata would have guessed.

“This is awesome,” Yorozuya tells him with a dazed kind of expression. “You look _so_ good like this.”

There’s a weird little twinge in Hijikata’s heart, but it’s easy to ignore. “Give me a break,” he admonishes, combing some sweat away from his hairline with his fingers.

“Nah,” Yorozuya argues, rising to his knees and crawling forward. “Don’t think I feel like it yet,” he says into the side of Hijikata’s neck, then has some fun putting marks on it for a while.

He plants the palm of his hand on Hijikata’s opposite shoulder, indicating with a small push for him to lay back down. Yorozuya reaches over him to grab around for some of the miscellany left over from last night, and having nothing else to do with his hands in the meantime, Hijikata slides them around Yorozuya’s waist to start dealing with his pajama bottoms.

“Hey hey hey, I thought you were giving me the lead,” he complains, without sounding remotely disappointed. He comes back with a small bottle and a few flat foil packets, which he immediately puts down again to finish wiggling down to his boxers anyways.

“Force of habit,” Hijikata mutters, reaching for those next. “You always take too long.” Yorozuya backs out of his reach before he can get a finger on them. Tch.

“I _do_ love it when you get handsy, don’t get me wrong.” He’s climbed all the way off Hijikata to just sit beside him, and he’s got that bottle in his hand again. “But leave it to Gin-san this time, ok?” 

He flips the cap open. 

Already, huh? Not that Hijikata really minds, but...

… There’s something about the contents, there, that he didn’t notice in the dark last night.

“Why is it pink,” Hijikata asks, leering up at it with a feeling of foreboding.

“Dunno,” Yorozuya shrugs, squeezing a very generous amount into his upturned palm. “Probably to match the flavour, or something? It looks kinda cute though, I guess. Maybe people are into that.”

From the light, sweet and conspicuously artificial scent coming faintly from the open product, Hijikata doesn’t even need to think of the print on Yorozuya’s favourite boxers to know exactly what that flavour is supposed to be.

“Why do you _have it_ ,” he groans weakly from underneath his hands, feeling hotter than the surface of the planet Mercury, and wishing he could just shrivel up into ash as quickly as he would if he was there instead of here.

He already knows why. There’s only one real reason to own flavoured lube, and that reason is so you can use it.

Despite all the obsessive overthinking he did to bring events to this point in space and time, the possibility, of… of… _that,_ of Yorozuya offering to do _THAT_ , to him, never in any parallel universe crossed his mind for one trillionth of a nanosecond. And now it won’t _stop_ crossing his mind, fucking jaywalking back and forth like it’s trying to cause a traffic accident. Yorozuya clearly has no problem putting his tongue everywhere else, so...

… Yorozuya’s… tongue.

 _Anyways_ it’s a thing that Hijikata has never experienced, not either end of the… transaction… because it’s not something strictly _necessary_ at all for two people to have a good time, and because it’s, just. It’s a lot. Conceptually, it’s a lot. The sensations are probably even more. It’s probably mind-numbingly intense. He can’t stop imagining how it would feel, and that makes him worry he might actually be up for it?!

Then in the next second, he goes back to being so embarrassed by the mere idea that he feels like he could boil to death on the spot, red and screaming like an expensive crustacean.

“Why not have it?” Yorozuya counters with typical nonchalance, fully preoccupied with warming the watery substance between his hands. He looks entertained. “This sorta stuff might as well smell kinda nice. What’s the harm.”

… Yeah. What’s the harm, Hijikata wonders, feeling his sense of erotic crisis deflate like a sad party balloon while he watches Yorozuya obliviously wax philosophical about a bottle of lubricant. How is he still hard for this guy.

“Ehhh, I’d give the taste about a six point five out of ten, though,” Yorozuya muses. “It’s more or less the same as cheap hard candy. Not good enough to use as an ice cream topping.”

Hijikata knows he should be absolutely horrified by the implication of that, but his emotional stamina bar is still refilling from the devastating misunderstanding he just inflicted upon himself. “Is that so.”

“Well, let’s have a second opinion then. What’s _your_ performance review.”

“... Huh?” 

His what?

“We already used a bunch last night, dude. Ah, but I guess you can’t speak for the flavour yourself, can you. Here, say _aaaah-_ ”

“ _I’m good thanks,_ ” Hijikata insists, springing upright to wrestle two handfuls of bright pink gel away from his mouth.

 _This_ was the reason Yorozuya was so into that blowjob, wasn’t it… Hijikata feels the tiniest bit like he just found out Santa Claus isn’t real again.

Whatever. It was still amazing.

The puddle of stuff in Yorozuya’s palms looks like it’s about to start dripping all over the futon, Hijikata realises with some distaste now that he’s got a closer look.

“You used way too much,” he comments. “This is gonna get everywhere.”

“That’s the idea,” Yorozuya grins, swiftly worming one of his hands down the front of Hijikata’s boxer briefs. His grip is hot, wet, and just enough shy of painfully tight for the sensation to be utterly blinding.

After the buildup of all of his delicate coaxing, the quick and rough pace of Yorozuya’s closed fist gets Hijikata’s hips quivering with troubling efficiency. Not troubling enough, though, to dissuade him from his enjoyment of it. He’s vaguely aware of how closely his body has curled in against Yorozuya’s- he can feel the tips of his bangs brush across his shoulder- but again doesn’t care very much.

There’s a strained-sounding sigh against his own shoulder, which gives Hijikata a distant pang of victory beneath the rising frenzy in his senses. He’s aware of himself finally pulling his arms all the way out of his yukata, and at the same time, of Yorozuya shifting around to be behind him while he leans the both of them back down on to the bedding.

And then he’s _starkly_ aware of Yorozuya’s fingers, suddenly far too tight, squeezing around the base of his cock and not moving anymore.

“ _That hurts_ ,” Hijikata gasps, “ _you asshole_.”

It _does_ \- all the recent vigorous friction has already made him sensitive, and the tacky moisture of the lube and his own precome is making the cloth of his underwear chafe like sandpaper. The feeling of slowly building pressure from trapped blood flow magnifies every other point of discomfort into sharper pain.

It hurts, but the way it’s making Hijikata’s thighs, knees and lower stomach keep shuddering with tiny thrills of unfulfilled need…

“I can let go,” Yorozuya offers, the vibration of his voice at Hijikata’s nape sending a different kind of tremor up his neck and along his shoulders. “You wanna come once or twice like this?” He’s not taunting or goading, but the gentle sensuality in his tone stirs a familiar eager combativeness in Hijikata’s blood all the same. “I could probably make that happen.”

No, Hijikata thinks, with a frustrating coil of impatience winding tighter in his gut. He doesn’t especially want to come in his pants from just some heavy petting, before he’s given Yorozuya the run around himself.

“You’ve got other things to worry about,” Hijikata threatens, with a dishonest air of confidence. He fusses his body back against Yorozuya’s as flush as he can get them, feeling the shape of Yorozuya’s hard cock through their undergarments pressed between his buttocks where it never quite managed earlier in the morning.

Yorozuya groans hotly into the back of his neck and rolls his hips forward, sending a rush of fantastically combined triumph and pleasure all the way down to Hijikata’s toes.

“You little-” he laughs breathlessly, and curls his chin over Hijikata’s shoulder with an easy familiarity to the motion, swallowing thickly again.

Hijikata feels Yorozuya’s throat move against his skin, and is dimly stunned to find the sensation of this more intimate than the hand still tight around his erection.

“My little what,” he counters with automatic sarcasm, absolutely _not_ thinking at all. He is instantly mortified by himself. “Never mind, no, don’t answer that.”

Yorozuya’s voice is already cracking below his ear with the light, higher-pitched kind of giggles he gets when something surprising catches him. Hijikata could never admit it to any other living thing in the universe, but they’re his favourite kind to hear. In the safety of his back-to-front position, he lets them tug a quick smiling breath out of his nose. He lands a harmless smack over his shoulder as a token show of argument.

“Okay, I won’t,” Yorozuya murmurs playfully, with some residual tittering. “Actions speak louder than words anyways, or so the saying goes.” He’s shifting away a little bit, just to give himself enough room to put his free hand down the other side of Hijikata’s boxer briefs. His second index knuckle momentarily brushes a particularly hot, sensitive, secluded place.

“J-just take that off already, if you’re going t- _ooh_ -” Hijikata fights to keep his voice steady and loses, cock throbbing painfully against the stretching, dampening fabric at his front, while half-dried sticky lube slides from Yorozuya’s turned palm down to his teasing fingertips, and the spots that he slowly takes them.

“But you were sooooo concerned about making a _mess_ ,” he whispers, with downright _cruel_ innuendo, pushing harder with the smooth, blunt plane of two short fingernails. His voice has taken a register that makes it seem to snake right into Hijikata through his ear, smooth and hot, slithering down through the depths of him to leave echoing shivers in its wake.

Distantly, _two_ sounds like a highly ambitious number, to Hijikata. But he’s not about to back down from the challenge, or discourage Yorozuya from showing any kind of ambition at all for once in his life, just as a matter of principle.

He’s already hitched the knee of his outside leg higher up on the bedding, widely parting his feet, _trying_ to relax himself. But the maintained state of the squirming, burning tension sparking through his hips and thighs, from the tight, unrelenting grip Yorozuya has kept with his other hand- that’s made the effort basically pointless from the start. From his own experience Hijikata already knows anyways, that all he can really do to help the process is be still and _feel_ the digits seeking entry to his body.

They’re slow and gentle, while Yorozuya presses distracted kisses and breaths idly along Hijikata’s neck to his shoulder. It isn’t painful, but the initial discomfort of encroaching, stretching pressure is unavoidable, making him tighten and flex just as a matter of physiological reaction. He just breathes through it and the fingers proceed apace, the tip of one staggered beneath and after the other, and then soon enough they’re both in well past the first knuckle and already making experimental little nudges away from each other to test their range of motion.

“You’re really tight,” Yorozuya comments, sounding unimaginably put upon by arousal.

“Ha,” Hijikata puffs with what he thinks is fairly convincing bravado, bluffing his way through a shaky gasp. “That’s good, isn’t it? Or at least better than- being loose and sloppy, like you-”

“I’m gonna assume you’re talking about my easy going, laid back personality,” Yorozuya mutters, “instead of saying something _highly_ uncalled for.”

His fingers curl further in and hit Hijikata’s prostate like a pair of motherfucking homing missiles.

He’d been able to locate the thing without much trouble himself last night, just out of curiosity, after enough accumulated practice on other people to have a pretty good general idea of its whereabouts within the average human body. Back then his own fingers made him jump a little, and put a funny ticklish warmth in his stomach that he probably _could_ have coaxed into something nice with enough effort and patience. He’s never been particularly good at masturbation though, so he didn’t dedicate much worry at the time to his lack of reactivity. (Not much, but still a little bit.)

He decided to gamble on his more distant memories, of _far_ more effective touches from different second parties, and went back to work getting himself decent for what was at the time still just a tantalizing possibility.

At present, his thighs spasm off the futon, and an utterly humiliating _squeak_ bursts up his throat and through his nose at the white hot arc of pure physical want, sharp and prickling like static, lancing from his gut to the tip of every extremity. Instant embarrassment sends his heart racing away, carrying blood and heightened feeling blisteringly fast through the parts of Hijikata still thrumming with shocked arousal.

“Hmmm,” Yorozuya hums, flagrantly aware of every single minuscule thing that just happened by his own ministrations. “Bear with me for a little while, okaaaay Hijikata-kun? I’m not sure if I can figure out where to find that fun little button you’ve got in there. It’s been kind of a long time since I did this for someone else, you know. Yours might be in a different spot than mine.”

Hijikata’s stomach is still clenched like he just got the wind punched out of him, when Yorozuya’s fingertips spread to either side of that shrieking bundle of nerves behind his balls, and mercilessly squeeze down and in around it.

His vision flashes bright white and goes blurry this time, hips twisting and thrashing both into and away from the painful wonderful neverending jolt wracking through him with the brutal force of some kind of gas-fed lawn care machinery- _too much too much too much_ \- his spine folds, something that feels quick and hard like a scream starts choking him-- he can’t breathe, he _can’t_ \--

“Shit, hey- are you alright? Hey,” Yorozuya’s voice is further away from his ear now and higher up above it, and both his hands have come away from Hijikata’s body. One of them is back immediately, knuckles soft at his temple, brushing his hair away from his face.

Hijikata can see in front of himself again. “Mngh,” he coughs, then tries a second time after a deep breath in and out. “Yeah,” he sighs. He glances up at Yorozuya’s face, and catches something that looks vaguely like fear on it.

Helplessly clumsy, he thinks, wanting to laugh at the objective humour of this- the both of them are.

“Sorry,” Yorozuya sighs back, petting through Hijikata’s hair some more. It feels good. “I went too hard there, huh.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Hijikata does laugh, leaning into the palm of Yorozuya’s hand. “Never thought I’d have to tell _you_ to go slower at anything, fuck.”

“You wanna stop?” Yorozuya asks. Hijikata hopes he wiped his fingers on something before he put them on his head.

“Hell no. Not unless _you_ want to.”

“ _Hell_ no,” Yorozuya grins, cuddling up against Hijikata’s back again.

Hijikata finally just squirms out of his underwear himself, and they get back to it.

It’s pretty easy to pick up approximately where they left off. Now that he’s not being edged within an inch of his life anymore by his own clothes, Hijikata is realizing he just got _extremely_ close to coming dry, and that it wasn’t actually bad at all aside from how frightfully quick it overtook him. Possibly something to explore again, later, _very_ cautiously. For now though, occasional brief friction with the futon is keeping his dick hard while Yorozuya slowly keeps on working him open.

Instead of just torturing the same spot with them, he’s using his fingers judiciously to massage some give into Hijikata’s body with deep, lingering movements. The sensation of it keeps a strange threshold between awkward and pleasing, with occasional jumps straight up to a sweet kind of thrill that makes his thighs tense and jutter. This… sticky, ache-like feeling grows with every passing brush against his prostate, into something hotter and itchier the more he nails his focus to it.

Yorozuya isn’t making that easy to do, though. His free hand has gone back to playing that maddening little game of keep-away from before. It keeps sliding up and down along his side, sometimes as low as his thigh, then from there around to the inside of it but never to stay very long. It will rest on his hip for a moment, then as Hijikata stops being quite so conscious of its individual fingers on his bare skin, it disappears and shows up again above the back of his knee. He doesn’t know if Yorozuya is doing some intentional misdirection, or if he’s just a huge cocktease on instinct alone- they’re both likely, and neither would be surprising.

Or he’s just a tactile kind of guy, and Hijikata is overthinking everything again. Considering the way they woke up, option three seems like the winner.

Before he can reach a conclusion, Yorozuya’s thumb skims the slit of his cock and all the thoughts leap right out of Hijikata’s brain. A slow, well-timed drag back down and in with the fingers of his other hand, and that troublesome brain turns to hot molasses for a good second more.

“Better?” Yorozuya breathes quietly behind his ear, starting to play a third finger along the softening flesh surrounding its neighbours. “Think you can take another?”

“At least let me answer,” Hijikata protests, without really _protesting_. His whole head is full of frustrated warmth, his body sweaty and half-fulfilled. “I don’t _care_ , just-” Yorozuya slides his fingers all the way out, presumably just to quickly rearrange them a bit, but there’s only this twitching emptiness where they used to be touching now, and the physical memory of the feeling of them is almost just as vivid. It’s starting to drive him wild. “Just _do_ it.”

“ _Gooooooot_ it.” It’s not something he should be able to feel, but Hijikata knows that Yorozuya is grinning into his hair.

With no more ceremony than his response, like Hijikata urged him, he just _does_ it.

The initial difference in thickness is already overwhelming, but in the furthest possible direction from uncomfortable after only just a few moments of deprivation. Yorozuya goes _fast_ this time, right off the bat, not fast in the real sense of the word but at a pace sharper enough than his usual languid to carry repeating shocks of pleasure with it that were much duller previously. The reach of his fingertips will hit its limit, Hijikata will feel the furthest knuckle of his pinky against his skin, his touch will reel just far enough back to rub across his prostate, then dig all the way back into him before his knees have even stopped tensing.

Forget “preparing” him anymore- Yorozuya is just fucking him already, at a steady clip, with most of one hand. Hijikata is trapped between the twitching urge in his hips to rock back into every stroke through his body, and the want he feels to assist the useless occasional dry rut against the futon of his front with his own fist. Nothing is actually stopping him from doing either of these things, or both, except his own strong sense of discipline. He knows he can still wait, and that it will feel incomparably good if he does. So he just curls his fingers into the bedding, and breathes, and tries not to think.

 _That’s_ getting easier and easier, and almost not a choice anymore. Except for the lingering, heightened self-consciousness he just can’t seem to shake about what his voice is or isn’t doing. 

Hijikata never pays much heed to himself when he’s the one giving it to Yorozuya- sometimes he’ll notice his own breaths coming out harsher or faster, but his attention stays largely captured by the way Yorozuya just mindlessly lets himself whine and groan and cry out from what he’s feeling. It’s alluring and encouraging in equal measure, always driving Hijikata to see what other sounds he can get Yorozuya to make, or provoking him to draw out more of the ones he especially likes hearing.

He knows how much he utterly loves what a vocal lay Yorozuya is. He also knows that he himself is just about the complete opposite- whether it’s from plain old embarrassment, or some deeper-rooted difficulty he’s got with _really_ just letting go of his own sense of self-control, it simply doesn’t come naturally for him for him to make much noise at all when he’s feeling good. Even if he’s feeling really, _really_ goddamn good. 

Hijikata has idly realized already that he could pretty easily just give a quiet moan or two fully of his own volition, and that doing this might even amplify his own experience besides letting Yorozuya know he’s on the perfectly right track. But in spite of the benefits, it strikes him as _such_ an embarrassing thing to do on purpose that he doesn’t think he’s actually capable of it. He still has this nagging intuition that he should, though. Because it has to be super obvious just at a glance that he _is_ reacting positively to the things being done to him, from his more subtle body language to his hard and dripping cock to his rough breaths, but- But still--

“You’re thinking way too hard about something _super_ pointless right now, aren’t you,” Yorozuya states, his lips sticking against Hijikata’s shoulder. He dedicates all three of his fingertips to a hard jab against that _one_ freaking spot.

Hijikata can’t tell if it’s premeditated or spontaneous of him but a sharp little whimper trills out of his mouth, while the small of his back draws tauter than a bowstring. “Hhh,” fuck, try again, “What makes you say tha- _aeeh_ -!”

He just did it _again_. “Quit fucking jamming the thing like it’s a _doorbell_ you fucker, nobody’s gonna come answer you!!”

“Whaaat? You mean you’re _not_ interested in the huge, throbbing, ergonomically-shaped personal massage device I’ve come to offer for sale today?”

“It’s average-sized and we both know it.”

“Hmmmmm, doesn’t sound like anybody’s home. Maybe I’ll ring again one more time _just_ to be sure.”

“Don’t you dare--”

“Ding-dong,” Yorozuya sings, but respects Hijikata’s wishes and just sticks his tongue into his ear instead.

Hijikata reaches over his shoulder and shoves Yorozuya’s head away by the means of a pair of fingers up his nose. He wipes them off on the corner of the futon while Yorozuya’s still hollering melodramatically at the ceiling about brain damage.

After a couple nasal-sounding gags, he goes all the way back to the beginning and appends to himself, “Nah, you always are, though. Thinking too much, I mean.”

Hijikata can’t disagree, so he just hums into the hard pillow of his own forearm, “Mm.”

“What about?” Yorozuya pesters him, nuzzling the end of Hijikata’s collarbone over his shoulder. “Does it start with _Sakata Gintoki_ and end with _‘s hot, gorgeous, sexy body_?”

“You wish,” Hijikata lies.

“I do, you’re right. Make my wish come true? Pretty please? I’ll do _aaaaaaaanything_ you want.” He moves his fingers very persuasively inside of Hijikata, and wiggles his other arm beneath then around his torso to hug the both of them tightly together back to front. Hijikata can feel Yorozuya’s heart beating quickly through the warmth of his chest. His hand gives a little squeeze to Hijikata’s shoulder. 

“I’m getting desperate here, you know,” he says, dropping his tone from its frivolous joking register into something quieter and halfway honest.

“Anything I want, huh,” Hijikata pretends to consider, indulging in some vengeful teasing of his own.

“Yeah,” Yorozuya murmurs into his skin. “I’m good at a lot of different stuff.” Another few dextrous manipulations of his fingers, to prove his point.

“What I want,” Hijikata has to stammer around the way he feels from his insides being played with, because Yorozuya _is_ damn good at it, “is for you to finally get out of those terrible boxers,” (there’s a cartoon elephant face on the crotch of them, for god’s sake) “and just fuck me already.”

It’s impossible to miss the way Yorozuya squirms against his back, and sucks in a breath through his nose. He outright abandons his pretense of coolness and half gasps in awe, half chuckles, “You’d be invincible in bed if you could say anything dirtier than the word “ass” with no adjectives, Jesus.”

“Lucky for you then, I guess,” Hijikata easily fires back, letting Yorozuya’s knee push the back of his leg further apart from its twin. Yorozuya’s fingers leave him again, and the knowledge that something different will be replacing them next time stills his mind with a dizzy pulse of lust.

Through their shared space on the futon Hijikata can feel Yorozuya shifting his hips around to pull down his underwear, then feel his arm doing _something_ that Hijikata simply does not care about beyond the way it makes Yorozuya’s forehead slide down to his shoulder and his breaths come quicker against his upper spine.

Those breaths steady slightly, and Hijikata hears him take a long one in and keep it. A point of hot, sticky pressure appears at the entrance to his body, guided and held in place by the familiar texture of Yorozuya’s fingertips. He exhales, a loud and heavy _huuuu_ that dries some of the sweat off the small of Hijikata’s back.

“Okay,” Yorozuya says in quiet reassurance to himself, and starts to move.

Hijikata holds himself still on his side without much difficulty during this initial, taut feeling of intrusion that’s not much else apart from slightly uncomfortable. Basically the same as fingers going in. It gives him a quick few seconds to cool down- he _seriously_ doubts it could happen, but outlandish as it is, that distant possibility of reaching orgasm just from having a dick put in him is so mortifying that it seems to have travelled through alternate universes just to become a source of worry in the current one.

God, he _does_ think too much.

He already knew that without Yorozuya feeling the need to remind him of it.

Several things happen all together to fix this problem, and catch Hijikata totally off his guard. Yorozuya curls his forehead steeper into his nape, sighs out a helpless little sound, and succeeds at easing the head of his cock into Hijikata. It’s such a rousing success that most of the rest of it just follows naturally, righting itself into a rigid line with the guidance of the shockingly sensitive passage that it suddenly occupies.

The ache of it, a spread-out and vaguely oppressive sort of sting, is immediate and persistent. But the way that seamlessly escalates into the full, intimate heat of having Yorozuya’s pulse inside of his own body, thundering, throbbing- all these distinct sensations at once have become something whole and different altogether, but not really _new_. Hijikata finally recalls this feeling.

He knew before, logically, without a doubt, that he enjoyed it enough in the past to want to experience it again. He knew- but he didn’t really _remember_ it, not at all. He knew it was good. Until right now, though, fighting not to shudder and squirm into every second of it that he can get, this repeating frantic loop within his body of expectation and immediate fulfilment and even greater want, building faster than he can keep up with- he’d let himself completely forget _how_ good.

Flooding through his legs, his stomach, up his back and around his heart, a blistering, excited, painful and hot _comfort_. It’s rushed all the way up to Hijikata’s head, behind his eyes. Fluttering intently, burning, threatening to make them start to prickle.

His preoccupation with an early finish was completely meaningless- coming just from having the guy put it in is ridiculous bullshit that only ever happens in BL.

What he _should_ have been worrying about, what Hijikata is finding damn near impossible to even _try_ worrying about, beyond the utterly ecstatic surrender his body has given to the very first overture of conquest- is just trying not to fucking cry from how amazing this already feels.

Yorozuya’s hand, sweaty slick palm and fingers, is squeezing fitfully behind Hijikata’s outside knee without any real intention. He can feel the bunched up waistband of his awful boxers touching the back of his legs, the muscles of Yorozuya’s thighs above that, squeezing themselves tense with the effort apparent in his trembling hips that it’s taking to not just mindlessly give in to the vigorous action his whole body is starting to telegraph.

He’d been holding his breath, Hijikata didn’t realize, until he lets it free as this desperate-sounding, whimpering thing through his lips. It sounds regularly after that, harsh on Hijikata’s left shoulder blade, never really devoid of the same tiny, unconsciously vocal gasps that Yorozuya has always made whenever Hijikata has taken him into his hand or his mouth.

\-- a shape that he’s only now _really_ familiar with, after who knows how much time screwing around doing everything else, as he’s feeling the deepest parts of his own body test and covet every little curve and pulsing vein.

It’s just sex- they’ve already had a lot of it. This time in particular doesn’t have to be meaningful.

But… it sort of is.

Only a bit, and only in some harmless abstract physical way, but it is.

Yorozuya’s heartbeat is loud and heavy against Hijikata’s back, in the arm wrapped under and around him and in the fingertips squeezing with some desperation into his shoulder, and inside him and all the way through him now. Or maybe some of it is his own? None of it proves any significant distraction to Yorozuya finally giving a tight, helpless laugh, and asking a question into the puny space between his mouth and Hijikata’s upper back.

“You good? You’re being pretty, ha, quiet-”

He sounds a few seconds away from some kind of emotional ruin himself, Hijikata justifies to the ever-present warning of the overwhelmed warmth stubbornly living between his eyes, and feels marginally less ashamed of the persistent hitch in his throat.

“Better than you,” he retorts, pointlessly.

“Probably,” Yorozuya winces in breathless good humour. “I still need a sec- to- mm--”

It’s only a little bit- he wriggles closer _just_ a little bit, but that’s what it takes for him to be all in, chips on the table, betting everything on red 14, whatever.

There’s more of a stretch now, just barely, but the small, slippery hint of motion that leads into it is enough of a preview of the impending friction to send Hijikata’s sensitivity rocketing right back up to a “holy fucking _shit yes_ ”- which he _doesn’t_ say out loud. 

He’s hyper aware of the place within him where the head of Yorozuya’s cock has just now reached its furthest, and just knowing what that feels like has tensed his knees and ankles so tightly from the pleasure of it that the only place left to go for the cresting happy anxiety coming off his every nerve is up to his hips. Hijikata has no idea how to really _use_ the inside of his body, but he feels himself grasping with it intuitively, at the heavy and solid pulse under the smooth slight give in Yorozuya’s flesh.

… _flesh_?

“ _Hey_ ,” Hijikata accuses through the shaky hoarseness in his throat, and takes his fist off the futon to inaccurately clobber it over his shoulder at the top of Yorozuya’s head. “ _You put it in raw_ , didn’t you, you _fucker_.”

Asking is just a formality, because he definitely, _absolutely did_.

Hijikata is… 

… not actually mad about it. 

Not right now at least.

Neither of them ever asked or expected it of each other, but Yorozuya has made enough offhand self-deprecating comments to the effect that Hijikata actually trusts that they have something exclusive. 

And he knows that _he’s_ clean.

And… 

… it feels _really_ good like this.

“Aah?” Yorozuya exhales a question, sounding half-drowsy from the gravelly thickness in his voice.

The press of his hips and lower stomach and balls start to retreat away a bit, and Hijikata helplessly starts to follow back along with the _perfect_ slow drag of clammy heat from that, but then he feels Yorozuya’s hairbangs tickle further down his shoulder blade when he tilts his head to _look_.

“Oh,” he says. Simply. “Guess I did.”

“You “guess”, do you.”

“I got kinda lost in it. Can you blame me for missing a step? It’ll turn out fine, we can defeat the boss without any legendary armor.”

“At least consult player two before attempting a frickin’ speedrun!”

“You really want me to pull out the cartridge and reset at this point?”

“Oh my god, enough, if you keep going with this metaphor I’m gonna kill you.”

“So, then…” Yorozuya inches himself only the littlest bit forward again, and he stops. “Can we hit “unpause”?”

“What did I _just_ say.”

“There was a “keep going” in there somewhere.”

Honestly Hijikata is sick to hell and back of waiting. He’s not used to just doing nothing with his body and he _knows_ Yorozuya can feel the hungry little twitches in his hips and legs.

And he also knows, with a ticklish feeling of emotional familiarity, that Yorozuya understands he wouldn’t be just joking around if he had a _real_ problem with this.

“Just,” Hijikata sighs, chest fluttering with an odd embarrassment, “warn me before using your Limit Break.”

Bad.

That was _bad_!

That was _so bad!!_

_Awful!!!_

He can _feel_ Yorozuya grinning pointedly at the back of his neck.

Fucking… awful.

Christ.

Yorozuya has the shockingly rare good grace to let it slide, while he slides the two of them back together with his hand on Hijikata’s hip.

He shimmies himself upwards and easily wedges his leg between Hijikata’s own, and the closeness and angle aren’t too much more than they were before, but they still bring a new tightness to Hijikata’s throat as he sighs deeply in at just being _pressed_ like this, within and without.

Yorozuya holds him fast against his chest, and moves gently. It’s not so much of a defined in-and-out as it is a slow, sweet, careworn caress, like the way a doting owner would mollify their cat.

Hijikata’s lungs don’t feel big enough for his breaths. It’s still far too warm behind his eyes.

“You’re _so_ ,” Yorozuya exhales hot through his nose and says, tickling the hairs on the back of Hijikata’s neck. He seems to forget what he meant to express, and just squeezes the jut of Hijikata’s hipbone on another deep sway together of their bodies.

People joke about this sort of thing being like a dance, but to Hijikata it feels more like the longest, most romantic kiss he’s ever been pulled into. There’s no correct tempo or form, and the steps don’t matter. It’s just about slick, hot, pressure and motion.

It’s just the sweaty cling of Yorozuya’s skin to his own, and the lazy, buzzing swells of excitement that go through his thighs and knees with every intent yet careful encouragement given to the inside of him.

The feeling of the futon against the side of his cock is unsatisfying and uncomfortable. But it’s enough, coupled with the raveling embers somewhere deeper than the pit of Hijikata’s stomach, for him to feel himself coasting towards the kind of seizing and overpowering pleasure that’s impossibly tough to back away from.

He’s inexperienced at being stoked so _slowly_ into this state, that he’s able to clearly anticipate its climax. He doesn’t really care. He feels like only a few more minutes of being gently, deeply fucked like this will be enough to nudge him over the edge, and the fingers he’s got idly pinching at the bedding itch to lift away so they can help him get there faster. 

The impatience is as exhilarating as it is frustrating.

Not yet, not yet, not _yet_ but it would feel so _good_ to just-

Yorozuya’s embrace tightens into a squeeze and his cock shudders, Hijikata can feel it all the way up his own spine- the hand on his hip pulls him back on to it with a jerk, fuller and harder than anything yet, and he hears a muffled whine come through his lips into his forearm at the intense flurry of sensation it stirs.

It doesn’t happen again, though, and Yorozuya is just giving a long shaky sigh into Hijikata’s shoulder with a desperate-sounding tension in it.

“Haah, god- you’re really- I’m kinda, getting,” his words stumble and halt again, while he squirms in place against and inside Hijikata’s body.

He almost came _all_ on his own just now, didn’t he.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Hijikata warns him, nudging against his nose with the back of his shoulder. “You’re kidding me, right? Just how bad is your endurance?”

Hijikata doesn’t know how long it’s been but it is _not_ long enough for this yet. After _so much_ bragging about how good he is! This is so typical!!

“Well what do you want me to do, go take an ice bath?” Yorozuya headbutts back against his nape to retaliate, annoyance tempering the tone of his voice back to its usual drawl.

“This is because you have _no_ discipline over your own body,” Hijikata retorts, happily letting himself be drawn into the familiar pace of one of these standoffs. “When you neglect any kind of daily training, this is the sort of thing that happens. Pathetic.”

Well, that may have been a _bit_ mean, but it’s already getting the outcome he wanted from it.

“Is that _so_ ,” Yorozuya laughs sarcastically, kicking one of Hijikata’s feet. “So the Great, Mighty, _Highly Disciplined_ Hijikata-san, here, won’t have _any_ problem keeping up when I quit holding back and give it my all, huh? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“That was your “all” already, wasn’t it?”

“Ha, you’ve really done it now. I’m gonna make this so good you’ll cry.”

… No need for him to know how close he’s already gotten to doing that.

“Bring it on. You’re a hundred years too early to be trying a line like that on me.”

“ _You’re_ a hundred years too early to be telling me that _I’m_ a hundred years too early, then! Listen, you know this is a contest now, right? Whoever comes first is gonna have a _lot_ of explaining to do. It’s not too late yet to back out, you know?”

He punctuates the “offer” with a slow, lingering roll of his hips.

It goes right through to Hijikata’s cock.

“Sounds _great_ to me. Try not to be too embarrassed when you lose in two minutes.”

Hijikata expects Yorozuya to throw him on to his stomach, pull his hips into the air and get to work pounding the absolute hell out of him. He thinks about both his hands curling into fists in the futon up near his chin, and about Yorozuya’s palm flat and steadying on the small of his back, and feels his eyes go unfocused when he can almost feel every bit of it already.

What Yorozuya _actually_ does is almost the complete opposite. 

Naturally.

He pulls almost all the way out of Hijikata, then so, so, _so_ slowly, slower than he moved his fingers when they were only first starting to approach the reality of _this_ , he starts to ease back in. He slips his arm under and away from its hold around Hijikata’s chest, and its absence feels cold and a bit lonely. But his heartbeat is still steady and fast against Hijikata’s back, and the promise of two firm hands now on his hip bones fills him with warmth again more rapidly than the slippery expanding pressure making his toes curl.

When he’s only about half way back to being sheathed Yorozuya stops doing the bulk of the work himself. He guides Hijikata’s body to him instead with his grasp on his hips, and to finally soothe the unease of being so largely inactive for his own part until now, Hijikata readily cooperates.

It’s a deliberate kind of sweeping, sloping, down and _in_ motion that scratches at something he didn’t realize was already building in him until this drags it exploding like fireworks to the front of his consideration. His hips snap and buck into it, and an embarrassing groan escapes his mouth and melts into the futon with the rest of the gasp pushed out of him.

He expects Yorozuya to gloat at these early signs of triumph but he doesn’t, just setting a steady and languid pace like this, down and in, down and in. He’s hard and wet for it himself, and Hijikata thinks he can feel his brow bunching up against the back of his neck from concentration and fervor. The sound of his voice coming out along with every sigh of exertion sends heady waves of satisfaction through Hijikata’s consciousness, to grapple with the knotting thick spool of arousal lifting him into higher sensitivity.

The rhythm of Yorozuya’s cock dragging through him is an insistent, deliberate thing that leaves too much time to feel and dwell on every little bit of Hijikata’s insides that it touches and heats. He feels like a match is being lit all throughout him, over and over, the same scratching pull into ignition, and the rise and fall of searing individual little embers that only barely have time to fade before they’re stirred into smouldering again, a fire being started in vivid slow motion.

There’s precome helping all the lube now and the downright easy slide of their connecting bodies is making Hijikata feel, just, _funny_. The sensation of hot, sticky moisture collecting inside him is so filthy and erotic that it’s serving to amplify every other source of ecstasy, yes, but-- 

There’s also this sense that, with every punishingly slow rake across his nerves, this thick well of _something_ in him, not fully physically _there_ but molten hot under his stomach and behind his brain at the same time, is being forcibly stirred at and dipped unfathomably deep into.

Trying to puzzle it out is pointless when he’s shaking _this_ hard on Yorozuya’s cock now, down and in, down and in- so _slow_ -

Hijikata doesn’t _care_ anymore, he just, he feels like he’s getting hysterical from  
it now, breathing tight and loud and hard, but all the oxygen is being smothered inside of his head by crushing soft heat and going nowhere.

“ _Aah, gh_ -” 

That’s not him so it’s Yorozuya, then, his fingertips boring into Hijikata’s skin when he pulls him back _rough_ suddenly, _just_ right, and now finally, finally, _finally_ he’s using his full weight to turn Hijikata all the way face-down into the bed like he’s been wanting so badly since nearly the very start.

That _almost_ does it, the thick dispersing heaviness and heat closing in over him and inside of him, his cock rubbing the soft sweat-slicked skin of his own abdomen on the other side of the futon’s scratchy cotton, jarring tight beneath him with the pummeling slow rocking thrusts pushing him straight down.

Yorozuya curses harshly into Hijikata’s nape, something frantic and barely profane that he doesn’t catch at _all_ because one of Yorozuya’s hands is slipping underneath Hijikata’s body to loosely and thoughtlessly pump at him in a sneaky last-ditch salvo to win their immature contest.

“ _You cheater- That’s n- nng--!!_ ”

Hijikata’s complaint slurs into a warped keening _nothing_ sort of noise because it worked, his legs bend up at the knees and his feet flex, and he’s spilling hard across Yorozuya’s fingertips between the futon and the suffocating constriction of his stomach.

Where he’s used to the quick rushing clench in his balls and then swift smooth flowing release from tension, neither of them stop. There’s a profound, aching, itching, self-consuming spasm deeper in his body than he’s felt in memory, both pushing and dragging his orgasm out of him in a longer chain of stark punctuated _hard_ tremors than what falls under any kind of physical control. The shape of Yorozuya’s cock keeps urging it on longer and sharper with brutally measured nudges, and even when that’s gone and there’s the scattered heat of thick come on his back Hijikata isn’t sure if he’s in the aftershocks or not from the way his insides keep clutching at the memory of stimulation.

His jaw is slowly loosening from its rigor, lungs emptying with a calmer rise and fall of his back, the rewarding heat in his face spreading into quiet comfort when Yorozuya’s knees separate from the sides of his thighs and there’s a not too distant rustle and thump back in the futon behind his turned head. The slight, cool weight of knuckles and fingernails through the hair at his temple easily coaxes a sigh from his nose.

“So, uh,” Yorozuya says with a mild rise in his inflection that puts a throb of annoyed dread in Hijikata’s calming heartbeat. “When can you go again? I just realized I didn’t get to see your face at all. I missed, like, the whole best part. Kinda unfair.”

Hijikata decides it’s worth expending the effort of turning his head around the other way, to shoot as venomous a glare he can up at Yorozuya through the happy fatigue fogging his thoughts.

“Still need a few, then. Got it.”

Before he can open his mouth for reprimand, Hijikata hears the slow drag and rattle of the office’s front door coming ajar a mere room and a half away.

He jolts up on to his elbows and whips his head towards the noise, of low chatter and of footwear being removed now, and then towards Yorozuya, who sits frozen in absolute horror.

They are both naked and smeared with body fluid.

“Gin-chaaaan, are you still asleep? Be a gentleman and come help with the shopping bags, or I’ll decapitate this Ketsuno Ana key charm we found.”

Hijikata lunges for the folded pile of work clothes he left near the window last night at the same time Yorozuya starts his mad rush to empty the entire tissue box and fling the contents in his direction.

“That might be a limited edition, Kagura-chan. We should see if we could sell it for something before wasting it on him.”

Yorozuya is back in his underwear and on his feet, bodily trying to shove Hijikata towards the open bedding closet, while he wrestles with the most uncooperative shirt sleeve he has ever dealt with in his entire miserable fucking life.

“You think too small, Pattsan. If we hold her hostage, we can get a lot more than some pocket change out of that sucker.”

Hijikata is being herded on one foot while he hops into his trousers, forget the damn shirt sleeve, into a shallow space meant for _pillows_ and not full grown men, he’s too tall and he’s gonna hit his head off the shelf in the middle if Yorozuya keeps just pushing him forward like this--

“Just put that away for now, he doesn’t need to know about it yet. Gin-san, it’s past ten-thirty already. If you don’t get up now I’m not making you break--”

The bedroom door slides open.

“--fast.”

If Hijikata’s life was miserable before, it’s about to become pure, indescribable torment.

**Author's Note:**

> surprise!! this was a tie-in piece to drink/dillydally/daydream all along, and now you know about the Closet Incident referenced so vividly in it.
> 
> all the hijigin i've written and have yet to write exists in the same canon, actually. i should just throw my shit in a collection already


End file.
